Family

Everything changed on my twelfth birthday. The brakes failed, the tragic crash, and the death of our parents. My brother blamed it all on me. He ruled as the mafia boss, yet all he showed me was hatred. The only love he had left was for our younger sister. He never believed how sick I became. He accused me of faking my sickness to get attention. He would turn to our sister with a gentleness I never received, he promised to save her, and he promised she would never die on his watch. My heart ended up beating inside her chest even after I died. He finally saw what was left of my damaged body after I was gone. The truth my brother never bothered to face would shatter his world.

I was suffering from period cramps, so I ordered some painkillers. I asked for a woman to deliver my painkillers to me, but a drunken man came over instead. This time, I did not call my brothers for help. I called the police instead. In the past, not only did my brothers send all of their bodyguards to me, but they also rushed back. In the process, they ended up missing the theater performance of our adopted sister, Gloria. Gloria was sad and grabbed a prop to stab herself. My brothers comforted me. “Don’t blame yourself for it. At the very least, you’re safe.” But, right after, they arranged my kidnapping and gave me over to a group of drunkards. “That was just a drunkard. You could have just chased him out. Did you have to call us? Look! Gloria’s dead now! You’re not getting out of this alive either!” When I opened my eyes again, I returned to the time when the drunkard was knocking on the door. This time, I did not call them, and my brothers got to watch Gloria’s theater performance and cheered her on. But once the performance ended, they regretted it.

My twin sister died on her 18th birthday. She died of respiratory failure in a dark corner of a hotel after being raped. Her dearest friend, Joanne Lowe, whom she always cared for and supported, turned around and anonymously spread photos of my sister being raped. I then slowly ruined the face which had so badly wanted to replace my sister with a knife. With blood everywhere, I cradled Joanne's face as if it were a piece of art and said, "My beloved sister is gone, and you people who harmed her won't be let off so easily."

My mother despised me because I was the unintended consequence of a one-night stand. She poured all her love and attention into her students, treating them as if they were her own flesh and blood. One day, when her favourite pupil confessed his feelings for me, she flew into a rage. She slapped me hard across the face and called me a whore. Years later, as Alzheimer's clouded her mind, she forgot I even existed, yet still remembered every single one of her precious students. The irony was that not one of them ever came to visit her in the nursing home. They all loathed her just as much as I did.

Lyra Mae Miracle considers her life perfect just as it is. Amazing friends, decent enough grades, the best family, and an annoying brother with his equally annoying friends. But when the past that she's worked so hard to forget comes back to bite her, she learns that her life is far from perfect. With a downhill spiral of her life, she finally learns to accept help from those who want to. She blocked people out because of her past, even if it was unconsciously. But she can't let the past take control of the present. So she's going to end everything. Set the line, and accept reality. All to obtain what she would most definitely consider, a perfect life. But nobody and nothing is perfect, and imperfections is what makes perfection. Perfectly imperfect.

My mom treated me like the dirt beneath her shoes but worshiped my cousin like a queen. Since I could walk, I had scrubbed clothes and cooked meals, but I would still be yelled at or smacked if I messed up. On the contrary, my cousin twirled in princess dresses and played the piano. She was cherished by my aunt and uncle like she was the center of their world. Then came the day everything changed. At my cousin's birthday party, my mom got drunk and spilled the secret—she switched me and my cousin at birth. It turned out that I wasn't her daughter; I was my aunt's daughter. I was over the moon. Finally, I thought I'd found my real family, people who might actually care about me. But when I told my aunt, she just smirked. "You think I didn't know? I don't want you. You'll never be my daughter." Her words hit me like a bucket of ice water. I couldn't understand. Why didn't anyone want me? But that day, I made a vow—I'd never beg for anyone's love again. Years later, when I got into Mayward University—the best educational institution in the country—I threw two DNA test reports on the table in front of them. For the first time, they both looked terrified.

After three years of living with my wife’s family, everyone thought they could treat me like a pushover. Me? I’m just waiting for her to hold my hand before I can give her the world.

After five years of marriage, the doctor told me I was pregnant. It was something I had waited for so long. Yet, along with that good news came a nightmare. My medical tests showed that I had cancer, and it had already spread. The doctor gave me less than a month to live. I froze, gripping the report so tightly my knuckles turned white. Tears streamed down my face as I thought about how my unborn child would never get to feel a mother's embrace. My grief was interrupted by the ping of an incoming text message. It was from Mom. [Since you're so selfish and refuse to donate a kidney to save Nattie's life, you should divorce Davon. Let him marry Nattie instead. At least that way, you can fulfill her dying wish.] My tears fell harder. It was not that I refused to donate a kidney to Natalie Rivera, my sister, who was in the final stages of kidney disease. In truth, I only had one kidney left. Five years ago, I had already given one to Dad. Now, with my life counting down to its final days, I decided that I would donate my remaining kidney to Natalie. I would also let my husband, Davon Parker, go with her. Before I went into surgery, my parents praised me for finally being thoughtful, saying I had finally learned to care about my sister. They said that once the surgery was over, the whole family would go on vacation together. Davon even said he was proud that I was no longer selfish and promised he would make it up to me in the future. None of them knew I did not have a future. After the surgery, what would be pushed out of the operating room would be a cold, lifeless body.

The first thing the fake heiress did when she saw me was imitate me. I loved fishtail dresses. Hence, she immediately bought all the fishtail dresses in the city. I loved roses. Thus, she made the entire rose garden hers. I thought she was only jealous that my family had brought me home. Unexpectedly, my elder brother mistook her for me when he saw her from the back when she was wearing a fishtail dress. He gave me forty-nine lashes as punishment that night. She was carrying roses in her arms when my father saw her cheek and mistook her for me. Then, my father immediately drove me out of the house. Before I could investigate the matter, I died of acute renal failure. After my death, I saw her marry my fiance with my family’s blessing. She made a remark on the night of her wedding. “System, I’ve got to thank you for letting me change people’s memories. As long as others mistake me for her, I can casually change their memories.” Enlightenment gripped me, but it was too late. It did not occur to me that I would return to the moment when she had just purchased the fishtail dresses.

My physics teacher held up my test paper with an 18-point score in front of all the students and parents and said, “Students like this are hopeless. I don’t even know how someone like this passed the high school entrance exam. “I didn’t think there was a way to cheat on the high school entrance exam, but it turns out there is. It gives people like this a chance to cheat.” He did not just insult my intelligence but also questioned my character and family. “Well, it’s not surprising. Only a junk-collecting family could raise a kid like this.” I curled up in my seat, too scared to say anything. But my stepmom could not stand it anymore. She smacked the chalk box off his desk, pointed at him, and yelled, “Who do you think you’re talking about?! “I send my kid to school and pay all the tuition and book fees! How did it turn into us being a junk-collecting family?! “You can’t even teach properly, and I haven’t called you out for it! Have you no shame?! You don’t deserve to be called a teacher! You’re just a piece of trash!” For some reason, she suddenly seemed imposing and heroic to me.